School's a Headache, Aru
by kopycat101
Summary: Chun-Yan is a senior at Heta High and is tired of people's bull. Assholes in her school run rampant,bullying of her friends has gotten worse,and a stupid Frenchie ruins all the classes they have together-which is pretty much ALL of them. The only pro is that her friends have a band.With Frenchie and his posse,though,even THAT could be ruined at any time... School's a headache, aru
1. Prolouge

**AN:** So, for some reason, i'm in a Hetalia craze right now. All inspiration for fanfics comes from Hetalia, at this point. So, I decided, _why not? I'll make some APH fics_.

This is a new fic...series...thing. It's about Chun-Yan—female!China— and her friends at Heta Highschool.

**Extra Note:** Story is maybe going to be fem!China X France... The idea wouldn't leave me alone, and it seems more like a rarepair than anything to me since I rarely see it around... It'll also include USXfem!UK and SpainXfem!Romano at some point, plus fem!AmericaXSouthKorea and GerXfem!Ita...Although I haven't really planned much ahead of this point...

* * *

The name's Wang, Chun-Yan, and I'm a senior in Heta High School.

I'm short for my age—5 feet, 2 and a half inches. As my name hints at, I'm Asian, specifically Mandarin Chinese.

I have two younger brothers and four cousins, which makes home life either irritating, interesting, or a mix of the two. They each have their own quirks, and together we make a bit of a dysfunctional group.

Kiku's the middle child, was born in Japan, and is a junior here. He's overly polite, quite, and seems to always do everyone's work when they slack off. Leon's the youngest, was born prematurely during a trip to Hong Kong, and has started his freshman year here. He's quite, always _tries_ to do the "grown-up" thing to do in situations, but has an odd sense of humor that gets him in trouble with his pranks.

All four cousins except the eldest—Lien, who's a strong gal that's already 21—go to Heta High. One's an excitable, idiot troublemaker who likes to cling to people; one's really too free-spirited and kind for her own good, and often forgetful; and one's a creepy-quite little thing that has a morbid sense of humor and can scare the piss out of you if you anger her.

If my family wasn't enough to keep me occupied, I have my friends. My best friends are Maddie Williams, Alice Kirkland, and Feli Vargas, and I'm really good friends with their siblings Emily Jones and Chie Vargas, too. They're all fierce, loyal friends, and my age, although I'm a year above half of them.

I originally met them in an odd turn of events the first day few days of school back when I was a sophomore. The condensed version was that I saw a Chie and Feli in a tight spot and decided to help them out, along with the others. We didn't even know each other at the time, but our quick thinking got the Vargas twins out of the claws of their harassers.

We were so menacing as a group—worked so damn WELL in that short span of time, like a trained battalion—that the perpetrators didn't really say much and slunk off. It was as if we were family, jumping to each other's aid like that.

And from that point on, we became inseparable.

The thing is, it's gotten worse. For some reason, the bullying of my friends has increased. Literally everyone in our group—even _me_—is a target to it, although Feli, Chie, and Alice get the worst of it.

It's frustrating. It makes me want to bust out my black belt and break those assholes in half. But then, I'd get suspended, and my parents would literally **kill** me. I'm **already** a disappointment of an eldest child as it is; I don't need any **more** reasons for them to dislike me.

So, I have to put up with crap from those assholes—from **all** the assholes, really. I have enough bite to get them to shut their traps when they're being annoying, and I **certainly** have enough bite to rip them to fucking **pieces** if they even **think** of hurting my family. My friends, by proxy, are part of my family.

…Now, if only one of the instigators wasn't in almost all my classes, like a shadow…. Then I could have a few breaks instead of almost the entire day being one big headache.

…Yeah, Heta High _not_ being a headache; **that'd** be the day.

Well, that's something along the lines that I'd thought about one Francis Bonnefoy, but I digress.

So… let me start from the beginning. Properly.


	2. The Start

**AN**: I'll be making chapters relatively short so that I can actually update this story in a somewhat regular basis and not completely abandon it.

* * *

I sighed heavily, looking out the window, as the class got out of control yet again.

Or, more accurately, how three certain **morons** got out of control yet again, causing the class to delve into chaos.

Again.

It was like this every day, and every day I either did one of three things: Try to ignore the dumbasses in our class and try to learn, bark at the room to be quiet, or look out the window when I felt either particularly tired or that it would be a lost cause to do the first two options. Sometimes, when I feel rather fed-up with them all and can't keep the first option going, I also do the second one.

I **know** Mrs. Burgh appreciates my efforts in here, as she always looks rather relieved when I intervene. Then there's the fact that I actually **talk** to her sometimes, during school hours, and she doesn't shift on her sunny mask as if readying herself for a long talk with an annoying brat.

_I'm_ not an annoying brat, though; I'm one of the few ones in the class that truly wants to learn and makes an effort to get people to shut their traps. I'm probably one of her hope spots in the cluster-fuck that is Burgh's fifth period English Literature class. The complicated lunch schedule is to blame for how chaotic fifth period is in general all over the school, unless you had a scary-strict teacher.

My ears twitch slightly as I pick up on Mrs. Burgh's lecture. We're going to start reading Julius Caesar.

Joy.

I kinda like the class, yeah, but **really**? **Julius Caesar**? A good 3/4 of the class wouldn't understand even the first stanza, much less the entire tale in the textbook.

…That's it, this entire fucking unit is doomed, aru.

Kill. Me. **Now**.


	3. Who They Are

**AN**: We get to learn who the hell is the idiotic posse...thing in this story. Somewhat. These are only the rowdy troublemakers, and there's more that are a bit more discreet with their tyranny.

I hope I do this pairing justice. FrChu is rare to come by *crosses fingers*.

And...If this is anything similar to another story, I have a good feeling that it is...There's a story I watch, called "A Band of Freaks", that also has to do with fem!nations in a band at a highschool full of APH characters. I'm just taking the basis of that and switching up things and expanding on the compatibility with the gals. And adding fem!China, who I adore to bits and pieces, and more rowdy troublemakers/ family members...Okay, the only similarity is the basic concept, everything else is completely different.

So, um...Sorry if this seems way too similar, acer370915? Your story just kind of inspired me. This is a product of the magic called "inspiration" *spreads hands out and a magical rainbow forms*

* * *

Mrs. Burgh puts on her super-cheery mask as she starts a mini-lecture on the Shakespearan play version of Julius Caesar. She's cut off by one dim-witted Alfred F. Jones.

"Julius Caesar? !" he asks, cutting through the teacher's lecture, finally seeming to tune in to what we're reading about. _About fucking time…_

"Dude, isn't Julius Caesar that famous, ancient Roman emperor dude?" the gratingly loud voice of that stupid burley, stereotypical American Idiot asked.

Mrs. Burgh looked at him blankly, caught off-guard by a question from the thick-headed blonde that **actually had to do with the subject in class **for once. She actually takes a while to come up with a response—still quite amazed at the sudden inquiry— so I put her out of her misery.

"Yeah, that's the one. It's not like there's any **other** people that fit that description," I tell him, and I notice that I sound both flippant and sarcastic. Idiocy always seems to spark the sass in me.

"Yes, yes, it is, as Chun-Yan has so kindly explained," the teacher says quickly, finally getting her wits about her and trying to cover up her lack of response. She then goes off the finish the lecture and tells us to turn to page 305 in our textbooks.

I see Gilbert lean over and nudge Alfred's shoulder, teasing him about something; probably for the rare spark of interest in this class. Francis is laughing lightly and shooting looks at them from the desk just in front of mine.

It was either a blessing or a curse to have Francis seated in front of me. A blessing, since he wasn't really as boisterous as the other two idiots and he **actually** liked literature. A curse, since he is one of the most perverted, womanizing little shits. —Not to mention that he's spoiled rotten and holds himself as if he's a duke of the school or something.

And his hair and nails are too fucking pretty for their own good.

That shit doesn't come natural, not even to Francis "I'm French and rich and can buy aaaaanything" Bonnefoy.

…Alright, so I've already established how much of a total _tool_ the frog is. There's plenty more slime to dish out— if needed, and if I wanted to dig for it—but one of my rules for surviving the chaotic hell that is Heta High is to **never** associate myself with the top douchebags that are at the root of all that is moronic and head-ache inducing.

The list includes the following: Gilbert Beilshmitd, Francis Bonnefoy, Alfred F. Jones, Antonio Hernandez Carriedo, Dennis Anderson, Sadiq Adnan, and Im Yong Soo.

On a side note, if related to one of them, you aren't doomed to be grouped with them. I know for a **fact** that people like Maddie and Ludwig Beilshmitd— half-sister to Alfred F. Jones and brother of Gilbert Beilshmitd, respectively— aren't anything _like_ their siblings. Whatsoever.

And…Well, I've got to face the facts here; I'm cousins with Yong Soo. He's more of a disturbance of the peace—hah! Peace!—at the school and isn't a tool.

And… well, okay, Alfred CAN be an okay person, if the over-protectiveness of Maddie is anything to go by… Antonio (for the most part) is more along for the ride, from what I can tell... Dennis is almost as clueless as the other two, but _can_ be an utter tool from his ignorance… And Francis is the least rowdy of his little posse of horror, here.

—Damn! When the hell did I start to actually pardon or think the people over on my lists? ! Unacceptable! I should be as firm as a cast-iron skillet!

Ohhh, this was all _Bonnefoy's_ fault. Him and his stupid fucking hair and his stupid fucking posse and his stupid fucking _personality _distracting me—

In my inner turmoil, I don't notice the fingers snapping in front of my face.

I jump, and glare at the person that _dared_ interrupt my inner monologue, aru!

My brown eyes meet his blue ones, and I am startled to see that I'm staring straight at one Francis Bonnefoy.


	4. In-Class Pondering

**AN**: Had a lot I to do this past while. My sis' wedding was the last week of October, and then lots of birthdays came up the first week of November. Pretty effing busy.

This is going to be a loooooong story. All these chapters are really short so I can churn them out faster. Down along the line, they'll lengthen themselves out. Prolly in two or three chapters, I think.

* * *

"_Excusez-moi__, mon cheri_," he says silkily, giving me a 'charming' smile as he lowers his arm. "But…You weren't getting any paper out for the notes _Madame_ Burgh had assigned us just now."

I flush slightly, and tell him briskly, in a voice as even as possible, "Ah. Yes. Well, thank you."

I duck my head down to my backpack on the ground to dig around for my Literature spiral notebook and fish out a pencil. How embarrassing—the guy I was just berating in my head for being an ass had to get my attention so I could stop thinking about him being an ass. Oh, Karma, you odd, cruel mistress.

I start writing notes in my notebook half-heartedly, still grumbling in my head about the blonde sitting in front of me. Soon, the bell rings, and I look down at my notes in alarm to see that, at some point, I've scrawled, "Fuck Francis Bonnefoy" on the side.

Oh dear _Shen_—my subconscious has meandered off to my freaking notes, aru!

I quickly slam the notebook together and shove it in my bag, along with my pencil. With quick reflexes, I jam the zipper closed and get up, sliding one of the straps fluidly over my shoulder, and make a b-line for the door.

I'm off to my next class already, hoping that no one saw the out-of-place scrawling and got the wrong idea. Oh, that would **totally** be my luck, aru.

Next class is something I'll surely enjoy, though; the thought of it helps me through the usually disastrous fifth period.

World History.

Hell. Yes.

And what's so great about it is that we actually get a **good** teacher for it in our senior year, not like [mostly] all the shit teachers in the other grades.

If it weren't for Luna Commis, then I'm fairly sure that very few students would pass their final examinations in History and get their needed credits to graduate.

She has charm, grace, and beauty. She gets even the rowdiest of douchebags to be silent. She's a goddess, as radiant and calming as the moon. She deserves her name, that's for sure.

Now, seeing as how this is an AP World History class, it's almost distraction-free. **Almost**, being the key word here.

You see, Francis—that stupid frog— is in this class, as well as his airheaded confidant, Antonio. —Yes, _Antonio_, of all people, is surprisingly in this class.

Aaaand then we have to factor in how my friend Alice is in here. Don't get me wrong, she's great! Top student, in student council, class representative of our homeroom, but…. Francis is her rival, and Antonio used to be her _old_ rival back when they lived in the same neighborhood that had a lake nearby, as kids. So you can understand how many outbursts she'll have with those two in the room, even if she tries to reel it in.

Any class with either Frenchie and Antonio in it with Alice is **bound** to have her have outbursts in it. It's a proven fact. With all her good merits, she has a meaaaan temper, aru.

And, well…She kind of doomed herself, really. She skipped sophomore year and went straight to being a junior, thus how she ended up being in our grade and having to deal with them more.

But, I guess, now I have a friend that can back me up when shit gets tough. She's a good ally to have, with how fierce she can be.

_And a fierce ally is what we'll need, with how bad the bullying is getting._

* * *

My mind flashes back to one of worse instances of the bullying, at the second week of school.

_I was heading down towards the far-flung field behind the school. Elani, the track team manager and head, had asked me to check the place out. Said that she was thinking of the team taking a bit of a walk out there to the piece of woods next to it, loosen us up a bit for our first meet._

_So, I'd gone down there. Even though I wasn't trying to be quiet, I didn't make much noise going down to that far-flung field; I was so naturally light on my feet that I didn't really have to. I guess it was a blessing that I am, though; if I wasn't, I would've been caught and beaten as well._

_I heard loud talking, finding it odd that anyone was all the way out there. I stealthily scoped the area, and decided to go into that the woods that adjoined the field. I slunk along for a bit and had quickly hid in an alcove as I heard raucous laughter. _

_In a clearing up ahead, I saw a crowd of girls—most of them cheerleaders, I'd noted—and they were all having the time of their life, it seemed. One of the girls had then just started kicking something on the ground that they had surrounded in a loose circle formation. It wasn't until I heard a familiar voice curse, then pitiful whimper, that I finally understood what was happening._

_They had one of my best friends in there, and she was in intense pain._

"_Piece of shit," one of the girls in the crowd growled._

"_And to think, Antonio actually __**likes**__ her," another said bitterly, giving a harsh laugh._

"_Temperamental little bitch, she is," a third notes. "Couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut."_

"_Italian scum, for you," another adds, scoffing._

"_C'mon, let's go," one of them pipes up, a girl named Brianna who I know was much more kind than the rest there, had told them. "Lutzlend's gonna __**massacre**__ us if we show up late for today's extra practice."_

_Most of the group sighed and groaned, having apparently forgotten in their 'fun'. _

"_Fine, fine. You're right," someone in the group said, relenting._

_They'd all quickly left the scene, and when I was __**certain**__ that they were gone, I dashed over and dropped to my knees before the girl splayed on the ground. _

"_H-Hey, don't worry, I'm here. I-I'll get help to be on it's way," I told her, voice shaking, as I quickly dialed a family friend to come and get her to their private clinic. _


	5. Worrying and Amusing Frenchie

**AN**: Oh God, I am so, so sorry for how long this took!

I had school work. Toooons of school work, not to mention exams and finals.

At least I'm back? I'll try to churn a chapter out every other week, maybe...Buuuuut I've got classes, and I'm lazy, and I procrastinate, and my mind wanders to other fic ideas. So, woops!

* * *

Chie had to stay in the hospital for an **entire week** after that attack. She was excused from school, and seeing that it wasn't even a month into school, she didn't miss much. But still…

If I wasn't there, or if Brianna hadn't spoken up…Who **knows** how long she would've been there? Her injuries would've worsened, and she could've gotten very ill if she stayed out there for a few hours.

…It really was a testament of her strength of will that she took so much, and still managed to stay conscious. It was her genes that saved her vital organs from taking little damage, too.

The Vargas family are built a bit like Roman warriors; even the females like Feli and Chie have lean muscle that gives them both upper-body and leg strength. Their bodies naturally having extra protection around their vital organs. It's a trait that's evolved in their family line, seeing as how they're descended from warriors and an emperor.

"_They ambushed me…dragged me back here," she'd told me bitterly as I was waiting for help. _

"_O-Oh? N-No wonder they didn't l-look too bad," I told her shakily, laughing nervously. _

"_Only took…three of 'em out…Got hits on some, s-some of the others," she choked out sporadically. _

"_Well, th-they'll be sore then, huh?" I said, my voice rising in pitch. "A-and they'll regret this! Just you wait!"_

"_Yeah…Thanks for getting help," she said, giving me a tired grin._

"_Chie, of course! We're best friends!" I told her with conviction, biting back tears. "Now, just save your energy, alright? Help's gonna be here any minute!"_

"_Yeah…"_

All throughout the lesson, I ponder on the problems of our pack. Even though we were strong when we were united, they always somehow got the better of us, getting us alone and isolated so they could carry out their misdeeds….Ambushing us…

It's depressing. We try to keep our spirits up, yeah, but it's just _so fucking_…it just zaps the hope out of you, sometimes.

It makes you hurt, and want revenge on those bitches. It makes you want to fucking _tear their arms off_, so that they can't hurt anyone else anymore.

Once I delve too far into painful memories—of bruise-riddled bodies and distant cries—I try to get my mind off of it, trying to find **anything** to distract me.

…I had a lot of options at the time, too. Lots of stuff to distract me, like Ms. Panacea, or the actual lesson, or maybe watching and seeing how many times Heracles nods off in the class period.

But, in the end, one French idiot did it. **He** was the one that distracted me, made me think of humorous things.

He kept on doing stupid things that made me ridicule him, and find comfort in doing so. He seemed bored, and was doing a lot of over-the-top hand motions while whispering to Antonio.

I always thought they were annoying before, but if I were honest with myself, they were just pretty damn hilarious. It was an ingrained part of him; it was static.

I couldn't help but stare a bit—just a bit!—and grin.

It looks like I've got his attention, though. I guess he's just as bored as I originally thought, since he starts glancing at me, smirking at me. It's damn uncomfortable, aru!

Yeah, we were both bored, but there was just **something** in his eyes that was too…intimate? Nah, creepily intrigued. Something along those lines.

The thought of staring at him being a good idea is shoved aside as I jerk my head away in embarrassment once the moron winks lasciviously at me. Stupid Sexy Francis…

My eyes widen in the realization of what I just thought. No. Nonononono—I did **not** just think that! _Aiyaaaaah_!

—Oh dear—FUCK, WHAT IS EVEN _WRONG_ WITH ME?

I feel my face heat up in mortification, and Alice gives me a questioning look at what's wrong. My eyes stray back to Francis and whip away again; she now has an intense scowl on her face.

We both look over at him, and he's smirking, waving his fingers at us, brow raised. Her scowl deepens, and she flips him off, to a theatrically affronted expression on his smug face. Bastard.

For the rest of the period, I try my hardest not to let my eyes stray back to him, my thoughts covered in a dense fog. All because of that stupid Frenchie.

When the bell rings signaling the end of class, Alice gives me a significant look, saying 'tell me what that was about so I can properly punch him for it later', and I nod. I then sign out the word "practice", waiting for her to respond.

We put our things away, before she signs back "practice". Looks like this'll be another heavy day for me, then. I've got practice for the track team today, as well.

I'm sure that Ms. Kerllis will allow me to leave next hour early. I'm one of her star pupils, after all! Although, I really _do_ like Culinary class…

Oh, well. To be with my best friends, it's worth it.

The only snag that may occur is that Francis is, YET AGAIN, in my class. However, he _should_ provide suffice enough attention to Ms. Kerllis and the class to make up for my absence. He's one of her star pupils as well.

Despite how undeserving he is…He's actually a great cook. And once he's in the kitchen and set on a job, it's as if he isn't Frenchie anymore; he's the prodigy cook he is.

…Oh, whatever, no need to think of him—or **anything** Bonnefoy related—since practice will drown that out anyway.

A quick chat with Ms. Kerllis, and she merrily let me on my way.

…Heh. What always got me, when it came to Ms. Kerllis, is how people say she looks like Alice. She really looks nothing like her, though.

Ms. Kerllis has an unbelievable shade of red hair, is curvier, has freckles, and, well…Is just more outwardly sweet. —Yes, Alice can be sweet, but Ms. Kerllis seems to be sweet almost all the time!

She wears cute, bright clothes while Alice wears duller colors, as if their roles in palette choice were switched, with how old they each are and everything. Ms. Kerllis is sunnier, and looks like she's still in high school, while Alice is always grumpy and serious enough to look like a teacher.

Ms. Kerllis is a Culinary teacher. …And let's face the facts here; Alice is a shit cook.

She's literally the worst. No joke.

By demonstrating on how much of a shit cook she, I'm going to give you a quick story here.

—Okay, so, once upon a time, I had to babysit this little girl a few years back. She was adventurous, pretty intuitive for her age, and had thick eyebrows and brown hair; her name was Wendy.

One day, the little ball of boundless energy had the bright idea of cooking something for me. **Without** telling me of it.

Once I noticed that she was no longer where I kept her last, I entered the kitchen, and what I saw was horrific. The place looked like a war zone: dropped and cracked eggs littered the floor, chocolate was smeared and were in large gloops on the spaces of wall connected with the counter, a **large** amount of dirty dishes _engulfed_ the sink, and piles of dirty bowls filled with stomach-churning, unknown contents lay battered on much of the counter.

She tried baking me cake as a thank-you for watching her. The sentiment was _incredibly_ sweet, yes, but…My precious kitchen was in shambles and I felt like falling on the floor and have a seizure. It was **that** bad. And when the cake came out—if you could even **call** it that. I **swear** it tried to slosh out of the pan like it had a mind of it's own—it looked like a witch's cauldron, full with twisted, indescribable things.

It tasted worst than it looked. Much, **much** worse.

Now, take into account of the previous tale, and imagine that failed cake…You've got it? Good.

Now, imagine that cake, but 10 times worse. **THAT'S Alice's cooking.**

She likes cooking, she really does, but the poor girl **poisoned** the middle school cooking teacher when she was in the class. They had to go to the hospital and **refused** to teach at the school again—_after they awoke from their 3 month coma._ Alice was banned from cooking classes in her career of basic education.

And to think, that's when Alice **followed** the recipe. Think of when she **experiments**! Ohdear_Shen_, that's **terrifying**…Blugh…

…And to think that people actually think that Ms. K and Alice are alike — I mean, really! It's as if they were from different universes or something! They _totally_ couldn't be alike to trigger such an odd thought process...

As I go down to our usual meeting place for practice, I get the odd feeling that I'm being watched.

Odd…I guess I'm just being a bit paranoid.…It's not like Frenchie would follow me, right?

Nah, that's absurd. He'd enjoy cooking more than following me and spying on the band practice, anytime.


End file.
